‘No time! I’ve decided. With Oponn’s luck we’ll meet again – go find your answers, Envy. I’ve got friends to find!’

‘Wait—’

With a final wave, Toc whirled and ran down the street.

A concussive blast of sorcery threw him forward, but he did not turn. Envy was letting loose. Hood knows, she might even have just lost her temper. Gods, leave some of them standing, lass...

He swung right at the first intersection he came to, and found himself plunging into the midst of screaming peasants, pushing like him towards the city’s main artery, where flowed the mass of the Faithful. He added his screams – wordless, the sounds that a mute man might make – and clawed with mindless zeal.

Like a leaf on a wide, deep river . . .

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

Mother Dark begat three children,

the First, Tiste Andii, were her dearest,

dwellers of the land before Light.

Then were birthed in pain the Second, Tiste Lians,

the burning glory of Light itself,

and so the First denied their Mother,

in their fury, and so were cast out,

doomed children of Mother Dark.

She then gave rise, in her mercy, to the Third,

spawn of the war between Dark and Light,

the Tiste Edur, and there was shadow

upon their souls.

Kilmanar’s Fables

Sebun Imanan

The hand slapped him hard, the shock quickly fading even as he struggled to comprehend its significance, leaving a tingling numbness that he was content to ride back into unconsciousness. He was slapped a second time.

Gruntle pried open his eyes. ‘Go away,’ he mumbled, shutting them again.

‘You’re drunk,’ Stonny Menackis snarled. ‘And you stink. Gods, the blanket’s soaked with vomit. That’s it, he can rot for all I care. He’s all yours, Buke. I’m heading back to the barracks.’

Gruntle listened to boots stamping away, across the creaking, uneven floorboards of his squalid room, listened to the door squeal open, then slam shut. He sighed, made to roll over and go back to sleep.

Cold, wet cloth slapped down on his face. ‘Wipe yourself,’ Buke said. ‘I need you sober, friend.’

‘No-one needs me sober,’ Gruntle said, pulling the cloth away. ‘Leave me be, Buke. You, of all people—’

‘Aye, me of all people. Sit up, damn you.’

Hands gripped his shoulders, pulled him upright. Gruntle managed to grab Buke’s wrists, but there was no strength in his arms and he could only manage a few feeble tugs. Pain rocked through his head, swarmed behind his closed eyes. He leaned forward and was sick, fermented bile pouring out through mouth and nostrils onto the floor between his scuffed boots.

The heaves subsided. His head was suddenly clearer. Spitting out the last dregs of vomit, he scowled. ‘I’m not asking, you bastard. You got no right—’

‘Shut up.’

Grumbling, he sank his head into his hands. ‘How many days?’

‘Six. You’ve missed your chance, Gruntle.’